by Love Belvin
When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, he yanked off his wet wool coat, tossed it over the back of the sofa. My chest expanded as he approached me in two rapid lunges. He circled me, clearly taking in my attire. I’d only tossed on a long black silk robe after getting out of the shower as soon as I hit the door. He roamed slowly, taking in every inch of me. When I felt my nipples hardening, my eyes collapsed in embarrassment. It wasn’t fair.
He swiftly grabbed me from behind, causing me to gasp.
“Jacks…”
Nudging me with his pelvis into the table until I fell into it, I then felt the cool and soft material of my robe tumble over my head.
What the he—
WHACK!
Ohh!
After a lightning strike on my bare flesh, I felt Jackson’s warm tongue swivel down the crease of my cheeks, and then his hand joggled both sides, bringing instant soothing to the smarting nip. Despite myself, I felt instant relief and undeniable arousal. The sensation had my head meeting the surface of the small table. Before I knew it, his tongue retreated inside my flesh, lashing and twirling, hitting nerve-endings I was unaware of. My shoulders lifted and released, my breasts pushed heavily into the hard unyielding surface, but no discomfort was felt. All sensation was segmented to my core. When his slivery muscle worked its way down to my nub, it stiffened and thrashed with intense speed. Within seconds, my mouth parted and the most lewd cry fled.
Jackson used both his palms to issue another strike to my parted backside, only this time not with so much impact. It delivered a slight sting that was relieved by another wiggle of my gluts. They were small circular shakes, adding to the overall vibration of my pelvis. In no time, I felt quickening in my groin. That’s when each sensation was isolated and so was my trembling. Each of his thrashings was felt all over. Every swipe was recorded in my psyche. When Jackson’s tongue switched rhythms against my engorged nub, my limbs failed and extremities went wild, jerking, kicking, tensing and twitching.
My mind decelerated and so did the world that I could conceive. Everything at this point happened in slow motion. As my body vibrated with deep undulation, Jackson lifted my hips in the air and entered me with piercing pressure. Instantly, he was well snugged and plummeting into me. My entire body was in a heated frenzy trying to come down from and orgasm yet being spurred by deep strokes of pleasure. I could feel him pounding into me with strong rhythmic plunges, but my mind worked at a dawdling pace that was…blissful. I’d never been thrust into an erotic zone like this. I could hear his rasping grunts and I could also feel my own cries rushing from the pit of my belly. I was coming again.
“Shit, Elle,” he barked over me. “Your sweet pussy…is squeezing my— Ahhhhh…shit!” he belted with fleeting control as his thrusts slowed into rhythmless plunges.
Dizzied and totally spent, I lay there trying to catch control of my lungs and vibrating frame. This was challenging as Jackson was still hard and pulsating inside of me. How did this happen? How did we arrive here?
“Jackson…” I droned into the table.
Panting wildly himself, he mumbled, “Yeah, baby.”
“Why are you here?”
“Making sure you know you’re no Jezebel.”
My chest expanded painfully against the hard tabletop. “I’m not.” To prevent the cry bubbling in my belly I swallowed hard. “Anymore.”
An hour later, Jackson and I were stretched out on my bed, lying against the pillows, bare beneath a layer of a sateen sheet. Fancy carbon boxes of greasy, artery-clogging, wonderfully seasoned, fattening junk food were splayed all around us as we indiscriminately ate between them all, sans the luxury of utensils. It was…blissful.
“Hey!” I yelped.
“What?” Jackson asked, expression somewhere between affronted and amused.
“You pick that piece of lettuce up! These are 600 thread count, longstable sheets!”
“The hell outta here with that bullshit, Elle.” Air blew from his lips.
“What?” I gasped. “These are Egyptian Giza cotton! Ask Valerie about that. I’m sure she’d react the same way about food on her EG sheets.”
“Then I’d have to tell her how soiled in these same sheets are your erotic juices from when I fucked you on them while waiting for said food.” I froze at that mention. My core melted. I’d be damned if Jackson didn’t make me cream with mere words. Perhaps it was the wine. He cracked a sinister smile. “Don’t be a damn snob, sweetheart.”
“Me a snob? Said the one who got hungry in the middle of a heavy snowfall and couldn’t settle for a chain burger restaurant and had to “make a call” to a shi-shi-foo-foo burger specialty restaurant in Tribeca to deliver at this hour?”
Jackson took a whopping bite from his burger and shrugged with amused eyes.
“They were closing, but hadn’t killed the grill yet.”
“And the bottle of wine, Jackson?” I asked with hiked brows.
“They sell wine at Neoples.”
I rolled my eyes as I dipped my fancily cut French fry in a special sauce, because of course they didn’t use standard ketchup.
“So, this is your place, huhn?”
I saw Jackson regarding the brick veneer of my one wall and the light gray adjacent ones. It was decorated, but not cluttered with wall hangings and photographic memorabilia.
“Yeah. What about it?” I asked while reaching over to my nightstand drawer and pulling out a bra and underwear.
“Nothing. Just not what I expected from someone like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jackson’s face wrinkled as he observed me fastening my bra and twisting it around to push my arms through the straps.
“Do you only wear black lace underclothes?”
It was my turn to wrinkle my face. No one had ever known that. Technically Jackson was my first lover since Henry.
“Is that a problem?”
“Yeah. You’re honey milk skin would look delicious in other colors. Why limit yourself to just that one color and fabric. I’m sure you’d enjoy the feel of sateen on more than your sheets.”
I steeled for a minute considering what he said.
“Is this information exchange?”
Jackson rolled his eyes and lay the back of his head on my headboard.
“If we must.”
“Because of my…racy behavior in the past, among other things, black is a well-suited hue for me. Black is my happy color. It tells my truth, unapologetically. It’s a reflection of how I view my soul. Dark. Sable. Swarthy.” I forged a mile-long smile.
Jackson got quiet. But what could he say to that? I never lied to Jackson about my aura. I owned it. All of it, all the time.
I stood to pull up my panties.
“Is that why you make an executive’s salary, but still live in a shoebox?”
I shrugged. “I like it. Money has never been a factor in my decision.”
“Really?” he scoffed. “And how do you fit your extensive wardrobe in a place that should appropriately be the size of your closet?”
I plopped myself back on the bed and started gathering the half empty boxes of food.
“You don’t have me as pegged as you think, Jackson. I’m a minimalist.”
“Minimalist?” He couldn’t help his laughter if he tried. I froze, not believing his audacity. “And by what definition do you adhere to that?”
“The traditional one that applies to a lifestyle. I live with less than 100 things, and don’t own a car or a home.”
“But you do have a television and a career and don’t go around trekking the world with a book bag strapped to your back. Neither do you come from wealth—at least none that I’m aware of yet—aaaaaand you’re not a young white man.” He couldn’t help his amusement.
“Right. But I’ve refashioned the definition,” I explained while carrying the boxes into the kitchen. “I do live in a humble dwelling as you can see, with minimal space. I also have a set number of clothing
items that—”
“Are all designer.”
“Mostly designer and many are gently worn.” I corrected.
“Huhn?” His chin dropped.
A smug smirk filled my face. “Ah-ha! See, you don’t know Elle A. Jarreau.” I scooped up the boxes. “I’m a member of a…fashion group—we’ll call it—named JAGMisha Fashion Club that rotates top designer apparel.”
“How does that work?”
“Well, we all agree to purchase a specific amount of apparel within a year’s time and stay within a listed number of designers. We wear our garments and pass them along when we’re done. For many of us, the item would be worn once and then listed on a private blog for grabs.”
“I’ve never heard of any sort of…organized fashion goods exchange…digamagig. Is it really that simple?”
I sat on the side of the bed and nodded, trying to hide my amusement at his confusion. “That simple.” I confirmed. “Take for instance that Vera Wang high-lo gown I wore to LaChateau a few weeks back. I paid three grand for it and there’s no way I’d wear that again and not go unnoticed. So,”—I shrugged—“I posted it the next day and the following night made a drop off. It belongs to Tiffany, a congressman’s daughter in Queens.”
Jackson sat stiff, processing my lifestyle. “The dress that—”
“You fucked me against the wall in?” I plucked a brow. “Yup, that one. Good thing your proposal of going raw was after that night. And thank goodness there was no proof of your barbaric behavior on the back of it from it being scraped against the wall like my shoulders,” I teased.
“Elle,” he whined. I knew right away it was a bad reference. “How many times can I apologize for that?”
“I’m sorry. That was unfair, considering…” I felt my cheeks heating.
“You enjoyed it.”
I tossed a throw pillow at him that he blocked effortlessly.
“Don’t be arrogant.”
“I’m just kidding,” he murmured as I stood. “Where are you going?”
I turned to him, now my entire face expanded. “Getting ready to walk you out. It’s getting late and you know I don’t do sleepovers.”
His chin dipped again. “Elle, it’s after two in the morning and probably three inches out there. You really expect me to leave at this hour?”
“You were born and raised in New York; you can get around in this little bit of snow.”
“But at this hour?”
“How did you get here?”
“Car service.”
“Then call again.”
“It’s late, Elle and snowing. It’s not ideal travel conditions out there.”
I recoiled.
So, he’s supposed to stay here?
“Jackson, I made it very clear to you that I don’t sleep with anyone. That’s nonnegotiable.”
There was a tentative pause. It was clear we both were trying to gather our perspectives and options here.
I was being a bitch…I knew it! He was right; no one wanted to be out in that mess. But I suffered from chronic nightmares and would never recover if Jackson witnessed one. I was lucky he hadn’t learned of them yet when I’d fallen asleep at his place. I glanced over at him on the bed, carved chest fully exposed down to the silky trails of his pubic hairs leading to wonderland that was covered in sateen.
This is Jackson, not some random man.
He deserved a bit of hospitality.
“Fine! I’ll take the couch.” I stomped, gathering a few pillows to take with me.
I bent down to pick up one and was swiftly lifted in the air by strong arms until my feet were above my head and then my back landed on the top of my mattress. I squealed my surprise.
“What are you doing?”
Jackson’s chest smacked into mine, his delicious musk infiltrating my cognition.
“I prefer you next to me, so in the event I’m awakened by your fragrance and nearness, I can just roll over into you.”
Shit!
“Jacksoooooon,” I whined.
You have no idea of my demons.
This guy was really getting underneath my skin…
He’s beautiful.
Not in a feminine way, but in an artful sort. As I watched in the darkness of the morning hours while he lay on his back, I observed his bubbled chest rise and fall, his thin lips parted, his lids fluttered arbitrarily, his nostrils would jerk a flare every ten or so minutes and he’d take a lungful breath every five. Jackson was…pure in his restive state, innocuous. He wasn’t the prolific invigorated lover who couldn’t keep his hands off of me. Neither was he the over-worked, heavy-laden kid that carried the worlds of three seasoned-aged men on his shoulders. He was just…a striking spirit in need of rest.
I’d known this because I lay awake gaping at his profile. Jackson drained me with another orgasm after I relented to him staying, hurling me into a short nap. That was until I was awakened by a petite nightmare and decided to sneak out of bed and onto my couch. After tossing and turning there, I found sleep again—well, it appeared I did because twenty minutes later, I woke up in my bed, next to a quiescent Jackson. I’d been up for almost an hour, spellbound by his classical features.
If the weather permitted, I’d be out on a rigorous ru—
“What must I do to get you to sleep?”
Though I didn’t show it, he startled me. Jackson rubbed his heavy eyes. Then his hand was on my head, deft fingers in my scalp, kneading.
“Give me my information exchange,” my wit in full play. “Why don’t you kiss women?”
He expelled air, exasperated then adjusting himself in bed. “Elle…” He exhaled.
“Come on,” I whispered. “Tell me.”
To my surprise, Jackson turned over on his side facing me, taking in a fortifying breath. He licked his lips before sharing, “When I was fifteen, my Dad stopped hiding his affairs from me. He’d take me to his mistresses’ homes and even to…club houses.”
“Club houses…like the 1970s bath houses?”
“Similar concepts,” he confirmed. “He said when I turned sixteen my dick would be developed enough for a woman. So for my sixteenth birthday, he took me to my first club house and…I won’t bore you with the details of that, but I will say it was…communal and wild. I saw my Dad with at least three different women that night, and when I say with, I mean in their mouths, breasts or…” Jackson’s regretful eyes met mine. “You catch my drift.” His deep vocals trembled. “Then after all that activity…all those women and different body parts, when we walked through the door at home, my mom was there greeting us, dutifully. I felt uncomfortable as hell…I mean I smelled the pussy on me, so I know she had to, so I kept my distance. But not Quincy. Nah. Quincy took his wife at the sides of her face and kissed her full on with tongue. I hurled in my mouth and hands right there in the vestibule. My pops yelled at my ass, demanding that I go into the powder room. It took a few seconds to register because I was caught up in my mom’s blank expression, but then I hauled ass in the powder room and fuckin’ up’d everything I had in me.” He shook his head, haunted.
“I’d thought I had the time of my life, hanging out with my old man and his boys. I didn’t have to go behind closed doors to sort out my sexuality. My pops made it possible for me to do it in a welcoming and willing environment. But seeing that shit with him and my moms fucked me up. I swore from that day on I wouldn’t kiss another woman. If decency isn’t reserved for your wife when you put your mouth on her, who was it for? Something should be sacred. If your dick isn’t, your mouth should be.” He shrugged.
“But…you kissed me.” The words flew from my mouth without preamble.
Jackson recoiled. “Let’s not go there, El—”
“You’ve kissed me twice since then. Why?”
“Go back to sleep, Elle. You’re slurring your words.”
That was because I was hella sleepy, but couldn’t meet sleep.
I sat up on my elbow. “No, Jax, tell me.”
&
nbsp; He brushed his face with his palms. “Lay back down please, sweetheart.”
Hesitantly, I did.
“Now talk…and I’m serious.” That shit had fucked with my head many a nights.
There was a pregnant pause and I grew impatient by the second. Maybe it was in haste, but flung my body to the other side and gave him my back. Jackson still didn’t speak, but I knew he was awake. And just as soon as my mind started down a new path of thoughts, he spoke. It was low, but very distinct.
“The first night I met you, something happened to me that I’d never experienced. I won’t pretend to have it all figured out, but I had this overwhelming need to connect with you.” He scoffed in the muteness of the night. “You were beautiful as fuck, yeah…but there was something more in your eyes. I knew and still feel there is something deep within you that is akin to something deep within me. It’s always been in your eyes: they mirror the desolation in my mind. They call to the ghosts that have taken residence in my soul.” Jackson burst out in a gut-wrenching hearty guffaw. I mean a loud roar of a laugh.
I shuffled in the sheets to face him.
“That shit sounds so lyrical.” He chuckled. “Who knew I’d be that dude spitting romantic prose to a woman and really meaning that shit.” Jackson shook his head.
“I have lots of regrets,” I whispered. “I mean…lots. But you…” I couldn’t continue. It would be throwing him mixed signals. I couldn’t be anything more to Jackson. He deserved more than I could give. My goods were spoiled. Shaking off that last thought, I asked. “Do you regret that night considering how we’re connected professionally?”
Please say—
“Sweetheart there is nothing about that night I regret.” The muscles around his eyes and mouth expanded. Then they retracted and strained. “I just don’t know what the hell to do with what’s been unearthed since meeting you.”
I didn’t mean to go there!